Remembering History
by insane-silentium
Summary: A series of one-shots about the past of the characters of Hell on Wheels.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is my first Hell on Wheels fanfiction. It's mostly going to be about the past of some of the characters, and the chapters aren't going to be very long. I hope you all enjoy.**

**I do not own Hell on Wheels. **

**First story up is Elam's.**

That man was a monster. Did he not already have a wife? Why did he have to chose her?

A slave must do what her master tells her. A slave mustn't fight back. He took her away one day, and now, now he was taking away her son.

She could not hate her son. He was not the one who did this to her. She had wish she could hate him. That would have made things so much easier, but she can't. She hated him at first, before he was born. She hated him so much, or that was what she wanted to do, but when she saw her little Elam and his innocent looking face, she couldn't. After all, he was just a poor baby. And he was going to grow up to be a poor man because he was nothing more than a slave.

He got older, and he was very bright. He was also very obedient and did what he was told. He learned what would happened if he disobeyed. He saw the results.

He looked so eager to be with that man, his father (monster). With his eyes all awe like, and she was crushed because of how much hope they had in them. Even if Elam knew that the man was rotten to the core in the back of his mind, his child thoughts told him to he was getting special treatment. It told him that master loved him.

He talked and talked about what he was learning from that monster. She had to scold him a few times. She had to tell him to not be so loud. If the master were to ever find out...She didn't want to think about what he might do.

He obeyed her. She was his mama after all.

She started to notice that Elam's eyes weren't as eager as they used to be whenever master would take him away. They had a hint of dread in them, and she hated that, she hated seeing him in pain. He was only a child, but he was not human.

They all were not human. Subhuman. _**Slaves**_. Only fit for obeying their master's whims. They could not ever hope to question their master nor actually truly think for themselves and make the appropriate choices.

She hated that man so much. She could not wait for the day in which he died.

She was so very afraid of him.

The whip. Cracking and cracking on the workers' back whenever they "disobeyed". There was so much blood and scars. She did not want that to happen to her son. Her brother got the whip a couple of times when they were younger. And she was always forced to watch that horrible scene over and over because her mind never stopped replaying that. Just liked how her mind won't stop replaying that rape. Monster.

He came back with a bruised face after spending some time with the monster. Elam just sat in the corner and cried. She let him cry; she even hugged him.

He wanted to scream, to hurt that man back, but all he could do was cry. That man was his father. Why then, did his father treat him poorly? Why didn't his father love him?

He tried reading for his father. He was really good at reading. Mimicking was what his father called it. He was beaten because he had embarrassed his father. Slaves weren't supposed to comprehend. They were supposed to stay stupid and obey.

Elam's mind made that connection. Knowledge was a dangerous thing to show around his father (he doesn't even deserve the title "father"). It would be better if he faked stupidity. Even if it hurt his pride.

It was only a matter of time before the fiend started to use the whip on the boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Second chapter woo! I ment to upload this sooner, but my computer is so crummy.  
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Thor was hungry. How long had he been in this hell hole?

He used to be such a big man. He still is big but not as big as he used to be.

He wished there weren't as many people. Maybe he would get more food if there weren't too many people.

It was hard, at first, eating the food that they gave him. The bread was stale at it was hard to swallow. It did not sit well in his stomach.

He used to be a bookkeeper. Numbers were more comfortable for him. People were too chaotic. They were so inconsistent in their body language and what they said. He would sit alone with all those numbers and he would think. Think of his homeland. He missed Norway but he was still glad to be in the land of opportunity. Sure, it gets tiring correcting people. He was not Swedish. He was Norwegian, but they all would laugh and tell him they were sorry for the mix up. They'd forget again and he would have to correct them again. They did not even bother to remember that little fact of him but he got used to it.

People were confusing. They were so nice to him. They would smile, he smiled back and stumble around to greet them properly. They would talk to him and he would try to respond. He knew enough English yet it was still hard for him to actually talk to others. He just wanted for them to leave so he could get back to his numbers but he did not want to outright tell them that. They leave and he was content to go back to his numbers. Numbers weren't confusing.

He would hear their whisper. They were so nice to him up front and he was nice back, but they say things. He's strange, too cold, too controlling, unfriendly, etc. They made fun of him whenever they thought he wasn't listening. He put up with it. He did not want to cause any disharmony among people.

He joined the military and he was a quartermaster because he liked dealing with numbers. Supplies always had numbers attached to them. Supplies equaled numbers.

He was helping his new home fight against disorder. He did not fight in any battles, never even saw any. He did not think he would be able to handle all of that disorder.

Then he became prisoner of war and he hated all that disorder. He hated that place. He hated being hungry. Food was another comfort for him, and now that comfort was scarce. The numbers were scarce and he was losing so much numbers.

Why aren't they adding up?

The people were so skinny, as was he. They kept dying and dying, and all he could do was watch. Some of them would go to that place where they weren't supposed to go and get shot and die. Some started to eat whatever they could find. Dirt, twigs, it didn't matter. He even tried doing that, but he was still hungry.

He woke up one night because his arm hurt. He had collapse earlier during the day because he was just too tired/weak.

Some man was biting his arm.

Thor grabbed something with his other arm and used some of his strength to push that man off. He used that thing he had in his other hand and he stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. He even gouged the man's eyes. When the other man was good and dead, Thor realized something. That man had meat on him. Meat was food.

He needed to hide his food. He needed to eat. The hunger was just too much.

The eyes were the first to go.

He felt sick but he had food. The man tried to eat him after all. It was only fair, right, just.

He hated (himself) the disorder of that place.

The place was rotten.

The world was rotten.

If the world was rotten then he must become even more rotten than the world...

...To do what's right.


End file.
